


What Is Not Forgotten

by authoressjean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean Winchester, Brotherly Love, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Migraine, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 01, headache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: "But the one thing that Sam had forgotten above all else was that when a migraine struck, he wasn’t going to have a bed to retreat to or an easy way to reach a cool cloth."Some things come back slow, when you haven't been on the road with your brother in a few years. And some things are never really forgotten.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 32
Kudos: 262
Collections: Sam Winchester WHUMP





	What Is Not Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lissaann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lissaann/gifts).



> Happy birthday Lissa! Love you darling!

He’d forgotten a lot of things, the years he’d been in college. Like how the seat ultimately still felt like his, up in the passenger seat next to Dean. Like that Dean never let him drive, no matter how capable he was. Or like when Dean decided there was going to be music on, it was going to be cock rock from years before Dean could've been old enough to appreciate it.

But the one thing that Sam had forgotten above all else was that when a migraine struck, he wasn’t going to have a bed to retreat to or an easy way to reach a cool cloth.

It came out of nowhere, and Sam could give a million reasons as to why. The last hunt had not only been another failed attempt to find Dad, but barely a win at all. Two people had died, with a third forever scarred. They’d left with silence and misery echoing through their very beings. Now they were just drifting eastward, heading for something else. Anything else. Another place to find Dad, maybe, but Sam doubted it.

Then there was the knowledge that, deep down, they weren’t going to find Dad, and Jess was still going to be dead. The arguments that he and Dean had, Stanford drifting further from view, and his nightmares that somehow came true in the light of day, which put him as far from normal as could be.

So he wasn’t really too surprised about why he had a sudden migraine. But the migraine itself surprised him, when it hit.

It crept up from the base of his skull and crawled over the back of his head, waiting, then suddenly gouged sharp claws through his head. It crammed its knuckles against the inside of his cranium and left grooves so deep that the world whited out for a half moment. When it came back, the road was still mostly empty ahead of him, and Alice Cooper was bellowing through the speakers.

And his head. Oh god his head _hurt_.

He leaned his head against the glass window and felt it leave traces of cool against his forehead. The claws of the migraine tightened, dug in, and the road swayed nauseatingly beneath the car. He swallowed and reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The pressure left him a little weightless for a moment, existing between pain and no pain, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to stay there or not.

Then the pain returned, echoing through his skull and through his face, his pulse beating in time through his eyeballs and temple, and without pain was definitely preferable than this. He flinched and finally brought his whole hand up to rub against his temple. The nerves in his face felt like they were on fire and it hurt to try and alleviate the pain, but he had to try. Anything had to be better than this.

The claws tightened. He shut his eyes and dug his fingers into his skull to try and fight back. Increased pressure did nothing against the growing fight in his head. He hadn’t had a migraine this bad in years, he’d had a dark room to curl up in the last time, Jess had been there to pull their blinds shut—

Jess. _Jess_. His eyes burned.

A hand rested against his neck and the additional singing of nerves made him jerk away. The touch returned again except this time it was harder, firmer, and it actually…helped. He realized he was bent in half, head buried between his knees, both hands clutching at his scalp. When had he gotten there?

A voice cut through the growing pain, low and familiar. “Did you take anything?”

For a minute, the words didn’t make sense. Sam tried to wrack his brain for any sort of answer, something to give back, but that meant igniting his already inflamed brain and make it take a thought and send it to his mouth. It was more than he could handle.

“Sam,” Dean asked again, quiet in a way that shouldn’t have been discernible with the music, and where was the music? “Did you take anything for the headache?”

Oh, pain pills, he hadn’t thought of that. There hadn’t been time. He dared to shake his head a little and hoped it was noticeable amidst the jostling of the car.

A low-muttered curse met his ears in the reprieve of silence. The hand moved down from his neck, nudged him carefully to the side, and a moment later the glove box popped open. There was a rustling with papers, something that sounded heavy and clunky, and Sam didn’t waste the energy trying to define it. The claws felt like hot irons seeping into his brain, burning through him and leaving it hot and swollen. He couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except try and contain the pain level that kept rising. The claws wouldn’t relent, just kept tearing through his brain, reducing his gray matter to hot, awful pain.

Another curse, but this one frustrated, and Dean’s hand returned to the back of his neck. “Must be in the first aid kit. I’ll stop and get some, all right? You should’ve told me sooner.”

There hadn’t _been_ a sooner, Sam wanted to say, but the pain soared, making everything hot and unbearable. His skin felt electrified, stabbed with a million needles, and he was trapped, unable to escape. He rocked back and forth, the sensation a way to escape for brief milliseconds. Anything to get away, stop the pain, someone please, he was burning like Jess and no one could help—

Somewhere, sound. He tried to focus on it. “…the next one, almost there, just hang on for me, all right? There, this exit’s got a few places, we’ll get off here. Just hold on, Sam. Almost there.”

Time sort of got broken after that. The claws refused to release him and wrenched whimpers of pain from him, made every turn and every rolling motion turn his stomach until he thought he’d be sick, and he couldn’t do it, not on top of everything else.

The car stopped moving. The engine turned off. The lack of motion felt like a momentary relief before the loss of the gentle buzzing made him far too aware of his aching head. Dean was gone, where was his brother? The car was empty except for a harsh breathing that he realized came from him.

Had something happened to Dean? No Dad, no Jess, he couldn’t lose Dean too. The claws clenched harder but Dean in danger hurt far more. He forced himself to raise his head and his stomach threatened to make an appearance. His eyes felt gummy, and his vision was blurred. See, he needed to see, he needed to find—

The door opened, and there was Dean, frowning face frowning even more. “Woah, woah, easy. Just me.”

“Couldn’t find you,” Sam croaked, and the words cost him, but he needed Dean to understand.

The frown faded a little and Dean gave a small smile. “Well, I’m right here. I'm not going anywhere, kiddo. I got a room, come on.”

Sam didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t remember having lunch, which probably meant it was too early to be finding a place to stay. But the promise of a cool and dark room was the light at the end of the tunnel and Sam desperately needed to lay down.

Standing hurt. The world lurched around him and inside him when he stood, and burned brain matter sloshed alarmingly from side to side until he thought he’d pass out. The firm hand at his elbow and the hand at the back of his neck helped incredibly. He managed to shuffle his feet to go where Dean led. One step, two steps, three four five up onto the concrete walk, and then—

Cold, almost brutally so, and it hurt even while it relieved. Dark and the sort of musty that could only come from a half-washed motel room, but it didn’t smell like cigarette smoke or other sickening smells. The pillow smelled clean and almost sweet, and it was cool and soft and _perfect_.

He all but fell into the bed and the jarring fall made him gasp in pain. The cool pillow warred against the flames in his head and he shoved his head against the pillow as hard as he could. He just wanted it to stop but the claws dug in hard with knuckles banging relentlessly against his skull, and the throbbing pain consumed him.

Then.

A wet, cool cloth on the back of his neck. Another over his eyes. The edge of a glass at his lips let in tepid water and, right behind it, two pills. Once they were down a strong hand rested at the base of his neck. Firm, callused, familiar fingers dug in just hard enough to help settle his nerves.

The claws hesitated, still for the first time in what felt like days.

A low drag of a thumb up and down the nape of his neck let in memories, not of Jess closing blinds and getting him aspirin, but of his big brother being there every time a migraine left him bedridden and in pain. Dean knew how to settle him, how to make the pain ease, how to help every time, from cool cloths to peppermint gum that, for some reason, helped.

Somehow, he’d forgotten that Dean knew how to battle every one of his migraines. Dean hadn’t forgotten, nor had he missed the signs.

The claws wavered, losing their grip. The pain ebbed to far more manageable levels of pain.

Sam closed his eyes and let himself drift.

It was dark, the next time he woke. Everything was dark. Not even a sliver of light from under the bathroom door to find their way. It felt a little stifling.

If anyone turned on a light, he would scream.

The headache had retreated, but it sat, just waiting behind his eyes. His skin felt like it belonged to someone else. His skull was bruised and battered, beaten down to where every single gentle slide against the pillow made his eyes burn.

A single touch preceded the voice, rough and sleep-worn. “Go back to sleep, Sammy.”

He didn’t protest the name or the order, just slid back under.

When he woke the next time, there was a glow to the room that suggested the sun was up. He didn’t cringe at it, just blinked slowly until he could focus.

The room didn’t hurt to look at. The carpet looked clean, and the single little table and chairs sat nudged up against the air conditioner. This…was not their usual fare. This looked like a chain hotel, and Sam felt his chest tighten for an entirely different reason than pain. Who knew love could look like a three-star hotel?

When someone shifted behind him, he didn’t jerk in surprise, just carefully rolled over until he could see his brother. Dean sat, leaning up against the headboard, where he’d probably spent the night, knowing him. “You feeling better?” Dean asked quietly.

His head still felt attached. The claws had gone. “Yeah,” Sam said, equally soft. “I think so.”

“Next time, _tell me_ ,” Dean stressed. “We could’ve headed this off at the pass, dude.”

“I don’t know that we could’ve. It just…sort of hit out of nowhere.”

Dean pursed his lips, clearly not pleased with that information, but he let Sam sit up. The claws didn’t return, and the flames that had licked at his head were gone, too. Just the resounding day-after ache where everything would feel a little too bright, a little too loud.

But he could live with that.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asked again. “I know the last case was a doozy, we can take a day or two.”

It meant the world, for Dean to have picked something a little higher caliber, to be willing to stay for longer, all for Sam. As irritated as he could be with his big brother from time to time, it always paled in comparison to how much he couldn't imagine doing this without him. A swell of love eased the tightness in his chest, and his next breath out came with a small smile. “I’m all right,” he said. “Thanks.”

Dean finally nodded. “Yeah, all right. We can spend the time working on your instincts. That entire time, you didn’t so much as flinch whenever I touched you. I could’ve been anyone, y’know.”

Not anyone. Sam would've known his big brother anywhere. Even if his brain hadn't been on enough to know, his body had recognized the person that always had his back.

Maybe Sam hadn’t forgotten everything, after all. Because he’d clearly remembered Dean's touch, his brother’s ability to always be there when Sam needed him. The rest of it would come back: the important stuff still stayed with him.

He just smiled, and Dean rolled his eyes, as if sensing the chick-flick moment he couldn’t even hear. He didn’t move, though, and Sam felt weak enough to let him, leaning just a little against him. Dean was strong, his shoulder firm as his hand had been in the midst of his migraine. Just like he always had, making it better in a way Dad or Jess had never been able to do.

Then again, no one else had ever been there for him like Dean. And that wasn’t something Sam was ever going to forget.

"We'll go get some food," Dean told him. "Grab some peppermint gum, too. I think I'm all out."

Sam just smiled and leaned in a little more, knowing Dean would keep him upright.


End file.
